The Oakleaf Pendant
by MissingSpoon
Summary: The Deepstalker seeks closure; year 8 after conviction.


The cold trickle of subterranean water. The unsettling hum of complete silence. The distant rumble of a fungal eruption somewhere off in the dark.

If it was any different the small clue I overheard by happenstance would be easily dismissed; but a Drow still carrying the oakleaf pendant of Silvanus was inadmissible to me. So, I chose to inquire, persist, and pursue it.

I caught up to them in a remote tunnel system en-route to Ched Nasad, a cave-in had grounded the small caravan my prey was traveling in. It caught me off guard, as I'm sure it did them.

Like many of the creatures that once preyed upon me I scale the damp cavern wall, finding purchase for myself on a well concealed vantage point. I wait a long, suspenseful moment for the darkvision in my eyes to settle and perceive the scene before me. Fairie Fire lights the bounds of their encampment, ringing a comfortable -if superficial- barrier around their wagons and beasts of burden. I can see Duergar and a few Males milling about carelessly. Too carelessly.

I wait a while longer, uncomfortable with their ease until I finally spot her, a beautiful monster perched much like me atop a great fungus, a quarrel shot away from the last wagon. Obsidian, invisible if not for the slight sheen of her white mane, proudly on display. I too paid it a moments adoration for it was truly beautiful to behold and had saved my life.

My nose bleeds from where her head thrashed into it as I wait for the life to leave her; coiled between my legs and arm like the prey of a constrictor as I repeatedly visit her insides with my knife. Eventually the beautiful monster grows still, and I with her. The sound of my adrenaline pumps and rings in my ears as I wait for signs I have been discovered.

When the cycle stretches on I allow myself to uncoil and tremble silently as the what-ifs and could-haves of all the ways this could have gone wrong play through my mind. My scarred and cracked and calloused hands slowly coil into the fists of resolve I need them to be. I crawl to the edge of the fungus and peer down.

Four wagons. Seven Duergar, two males and _him_. Resplendent in the cocksure garishness of his houseless pride. Many cycles of reliving our first encounter together never resolved for me the circumstances that would allow this male to flourish in the face of such contravention.

I chance the smallest flash of flint to light my stick of incense hugged tight against my chest. The foreign cedar scent begins to fill my nostrils as I quietly entreat the spirits of air for their blessing. It is difficult; my attentions are split between their amorphous wishes and ensuring I am not discovered. Eventually I convince them of my reverence, and sufficiently placate their alien egos. Navigating their unknowable psyche is reminiscent to remembering a dream or mistaking someone has whispered your name in a crowd.

The incense is pinched, the ash trails away on a breeze that wasn't there before; even down here. I feel a rush of power course through me as my movements are heightened and my silent advance is covered by changes perceived only as happenstance by my foes.

My toe scuffs a loose rock, but somewhere else someone is made to sneeze. A sentry that should have seen me instead is distracted by a creaking shutter of a wagon stirred by a breeze. Wide eyed, my chest heaves in frantic, shallow breaths as my lungs burn in protest of this prolonged silence. I hear the comforting rumble of the rothe as I near their enclosure. My friends, I briefly run the danger of feeling the softness that is anathema to this place and I kill it as I prepare to visit injustice upon these noble beasts.

I extend my empathy towards them and allow it to mix with their boredom and confusion and fear as the smell of the beautiful monster begins to reach them. The exposed fingers that escape from the sodden leather of my glove entangles in the course hair of the elected leader of this small herd. Its comforted by my presence and I conceal my apology as I let my lie wash over them.

Behind me I hear a Duergar shout to others in their angular tongue as they notice their animals begin to move. A ring of rope is no true master to the Deep Rothe and the animals are soon off, snorting and kicking uncharacteristically as they take off into the black.

I wait with lungs burning for denied breath as the caravanners give panicked chase before me.

I hear the arrogant laughter of entropies evil champion and catch my first glimpse of the old oak-leaf pendant hanging out of place on his belt of charms, wands and potions. I blink away tears and memories that would impede my survival and prepare to make my move.

He chuckles to himself as the screams of his companions make their way back to us, kicking over a table they had set out for cover and readying his crossbow at what he knows is coming. Another of the males curses and takes aim similarly.

I wait. The screams grow quiet under the scraping of claws on rock. I use this time to marvel at my foe, as handsome as was bred into his people, hoop earrings, roguish smile, feathered hat, rapier and whip that he'll never get the chance to use.

Five of the seven Duergar stumble back into the ring of fairiefire lanterns, one bloodied, and rejoin the males bitterly as the hooked horrors begin their assault on the camp.

My eyes close briefly as I suppress the anxiety of a life at their monstrous mercy, their clattering, muttering call is answered by battle against the caravanners.

I hear the whir of crossbow quarrels go off and I swear I feel my teeth crack under the strain of my intensity as the garrotte wire finds purchase in the drow's neck. He is light and small compared to my people and the howl of my fear and rage and pain propels me forward as I flee the camp; passed Drow and Duergar and hooked horror and eventually the slaughtered Rothe that attracted chaos to this collapsed tunnel at my behest.

The cycle grows on and my prisoner has grown very still hoisted against my back, I half stagger- half stop as I fear he has perished before facing my blind and indecipherable rage. My arms chide me for the unergonomic way I had elected to carry my foe so that I may visit with him once more.

Confused, blinking eyes stare up at me in the black, he gurgles something, and I see where the wire has cut through his throat; an insufficient anchor point for a man's weight. I rain frustrated blows upon him until my hand no longer retains the shape of an object that can get things done.

I collapse on the ground beside his body, lazily fidget with his belt until the oak leaf pendant is freed. I thrust it before his open eyes as if to say "See!? Remember!?" …but those eyes will never see anything again and even my thin hope for justice dies like the ridiculousness of my fantasy. I remove one of my gloves and bandage my battered hand as reality lowers its crushing weight on top of me.

I become afraid that something has snuck up on me during my vacation from sense.

My eyes strain to perceive the black vastness of the cavern. The cold drip of subterranean water followed by the unsettling hum of complete silence, and then broken by the distant rumbling of a fungal eruption in some far-off cavern.

No, I am alone in the dark still. Any would be predator has missed its mark and I will scurry back into shadows within shadows as I start my long journey back to Andunor.


End file.
